Painted Canvas
by Dragoness114
Summary: My own story. All rights are my own. Give it a shot.


His eyes are coated in despair. His body is a puppet on strings, a broken marionette that dances to a tune that has long fallen silent. The silence is heavy, weighing on his shoulders as the molten sun shines above him. The light is blinding, harsh in the hours of noon as the forest fire rages on behind him. The flames dances in strict movements, the tip of each wave of heat washing over him as he stands, captivated by the destruction by his hand. His eyes are glazed, images of her swaying beneath his heart as her whispers echo in his ears. His hands tremble in the wake of the fire because wherever he looks, she is there and she's laughing, poking at his skull, prodding him to save her, just save her but he can't because she's gone all because he didn't get there in time. Silently, he falls to his knees, refusing to acknowledge the tears streaming down his voice or the scream dying in his throat. All he wants is a second chance, a chance to show her that he _is_ there, that he will always be there, but he couldn't then because she wouldn't let him in. She closed the door, she walked away, she left _him _so why is she gone instead?

_3 weeks earlier_

Her laugh fills the room, encasing it with a sense of peace, of serenity. He watches her, a smile gracing his face as her hair pools behind her, her cheeks flushed red with joy. She is leaning into his shoulder, the scent of her shampoo wafting off her dirty blonde locks as they infiltrate his sense, surrounding him with the essence of her and her smile. Her eyes are a startling blue, brighter than the sea and they are alight with waves of emotion as she clutches her stomach in the throes of laughter, the aching a sign that while she is in pain, it is a good pain and it is because of him. Her ragged sweater is filled with holes, her sweats ratty but she is as beautiful as the day he first saw her in a dress of navy blue, accenting the darkness that resided in her eyes back then as she tried to accomplish what no one could have before. Her arms were hidden, covered in powders and make ups, hiding her pain, her insecurities from the world. She had only shown them to him a few months ago, in a moment of infinite adoration. He had seen the tears in her eyes, the fear until he took her arms and kissed each mark left behind by the demons of her mind. Her secrets were painted on a white canvas with lemon juice, uncovered with each stroke of heat splayed across the page, one at a time. Her walls had been unbreakable, impossible to navigate, but she made a chink, just for him, allowing him to slip through the cracks for her, to protect her from the evils of the mind. She had expected him not to fail and in this moment with her he knows he would never let her fall, only that he would be there to catch her. She catches hm looking at her and smiles. at are you looking at silly?" only smiles at her. white canvas painted with invisible colors." ***

_2 weeks earlier_

They're arguing again. The colors on her canvas are painted red now, coated with guilt, anger, and frustration. He had found her with the razor in her hand, the cigarette lighter under her pillow. He is furious that she has been lying to him again. She throws words at him tipped with sharp edges, wrapped in poison. The splashes of red hot anger, orange fire, and black night are chucked at the tight skin, carelessly placed like broken hearts and coffee cups. The once steaming mug of coffee is now stone cold, under daggered letters smashed together in words of fire. The fire is burning in the apartment, eating away the stars in her eyes, the patience in his hands, now clasping her tightly, begging her to please, _just please_, let him in because she's blocked him out again and he doesn't know if he can fight his way back. He's drowning in a sea of her sadness because she's sinking, coloring her canvas blue and soaking it with salt water. He's trying to save her, trying to throw her a hook but she doesn't catch it, instead choosing to pull him down with her. He's doing everything he can but she's giving up and he doesn't know if he can reinvigorate her with hope again. Then she collapses in front of him, the tears in her eyes stone cold and the last thing he remembers before dialing the hospital is that her canvas is getting thinner.

_1 week earlier_

He came to the hospital with flowers today. He picked the roses himself, having the thorn cuts to prove it. He also has marigolds, yellow like sunshine, because they're her favorite color. In the middle, it has a little note. He wrote her a poem, his way of apologizing, and brought her a gift. She smiles at him as he walks through the doors of the hospital. He quickly scans over her and winces internally. When they brought her in, they washed all the white paint that covered up parts of her canvas. It's all on display now, a work of art. He wants to vomit at the sight, feels the tears begging to escape from his eyes but he swallows down the pain and smiles back. Because though she is covered in purple and brown, there is the yellow he loves, the sea blue, the sparkling green. He can see the color of the rain, the echoes of the forest, the kindle of a campfire painted in a circle. Her canvas is warm, inviting. He walks past the gated walls and fiddles with the lock, until he slips inside again. He takes her hand, noticing the freezing temperature and rubs it softly with his own. They talk about everything but the fight. He smiles as she laughs, her cheeks gaunt with pain but filling out slowly as the machines beep next to them. And after he comes back with a cup of coffee for the both of them, he stands in the doorway and watches as she sleeps, her eyelashes fluttering in the midst of her dreams. And while watching her, he notes, that her canvas is fading away.

_4 days ago_

She's finally out today. He is her crutch and he's helping her home. As he's driving her home in his car, he notices her looking out the window at the trees, at the birds. She's watching them in envy he realizes. He watches her eyes as they focus on the wings of the birds, the feathers along their spines. There is a flash of longing and he looks away before she notices his intense gaze, leaving her to her wishes and dreams. They arrive slowly and he walks her into the house, sitting her down on the sofa. He plops down next to her softly, allowing her to lean into him, her breathing shallow. He closes his eyes and listens to her faint heartbeat, a wounded bird fluttering inside of her trying to fly away. He thinks she's drifted off when she speaks.

"_You have to go._"

He looks at her surprised.

"_Do you want me to come back later?_"

Painfully, she shakes her head.

"_No. You have to go. We... We have to end._"

He doesn't believe her at first, the words settling in. But they do, crashing on him like a shock wave, numbing him to the bone.

"_W-Why?_"

"_I don't feel the same way anymore. I'm sorry._"

Her voice is firm, set. He fights her softly, not wanting to provoke another incident but argues with her, trying to convince her that there is still love, there is still passion, she _needs _him. She looks at him, her eyes steely cold.

"_I don't need anybody._"

Eventually, he leaves because she threatens to get agitated, provoking another attack. He surrenders, promising to come back later to talk about it again, asking her, pleading with her to reconsider. She doesn't answer, only pushing him out the door. The click of the lock leaves him standing out in the cold where a flake of snow rests upon his nose. He trudges back to his car, nearly collapsing into the seat. He sits there, outside her house, waiting for hours until he decides it's time to go in again. He knocks on her door, his mind whirling, only to recieve no reply. He tries calling her name but to no avail. He sneaks around to the back and slips in, only to see her passed out asleep on the couch. Smiling gently, he wraps his arms around her body and carries her to her bedroom. He undresses her and slips warm clothes onto her body to keep the shivering away and tucks her in. He places a kiss on her forehead and takes one last look at her before leaving. Her canvas is a sickly yellow, the red center pulsing lightly in a manner that would slowly erode him from the inside.

He drops by for the next two days in different hours of the day. She won't come to the door, sometimes her mom arriving and giving him a sympathetic look, or he slips in the back and find her immersed in something. He watches her canvas carefully, watching the yellow grow stronger but the red's hue turning deeper as well. He is confused, not knowing what it means but content to see that she was okay. He goes home and sleeps peacefully with her starring in his dreams.

_Yesterday_

He wakes up in a cold sweat. He runs to his car and drives over to her house, sneaking in through the back. He makes his way to her room only to see that she is not there. He searches for her around the house, the scent of her strawberry shampoo nowhere to be found. There are no trails of paint leading to her canvas. Panicking, he wakes her mother and then jumps into his car to find her. He has no idea where to start but he must try. The roads are dark, the rays of the sun not having touched the gravel yet. He's looking for anything, any sign that she is here. After the seconds roll by, he sees the trail. It's a pale yellow, paler than what it was before, tainted with a blood red. His heart drops and he drives after the trail, his heart pounding. He doesn't want to think about what the color might mean or what me might find. As he follows it through a maze of roads, it starts to grow darker, fading rather quickly. In a frenzy, he races forward, looking for the brush, the canvas, his heart. He's reached the bridge now, dangling hundreds of feet over the Hudson Bay and he's scared. He doesn't think it, pushing it away but he gets out on foot and follows her trail. Looking up, he sees her, balancing atop the beams, waiting for the sun to rise. Her canvas is almost transparent, the paint almost gone. He yells her name and she looks down at him, surprised. Suddenly, the sun shoots over the horizon, the beams of sunshine infiltrating the day. They hit her at the zenith of his world and for a moment, her canvas is gold. A halo surrounds her being and a peaceful smile grows its way across her face, stretching to her eyes. Her canvas grows bigger and stronger and _brighter_ and she's okay now, finally and he yells for her to come down to his arms. She looks at him, a beaming smile on her face as she is reborn as a fresh new canvas, a new beginning, a new day-

She jumps.

He doesn't go to her funeral. Instead he drives here where he's set the forest fire. He's watching the colors bleed into the sky, painting it different colors. He's watching as the painting burns away, only to leave a new canvas behind to start over again. He's watching the sky alight with the burning sun and beads of sweat dripping down his frame. He's watching for her as he steps into the canvas, becoming one with the Earth.

He's becoming one with her.


End file.
